Some Kid in Iowa
by Obvious Ghost
Summary: She should have known.


The doorknob was a clock.

Because _of course_ the doorknob was a clock.

Moist made sure to give it a maliciously perspiration-soaked squeeze when he opened the door. Maybe she'd reach for it, maybe she'd slip. Somehow. Maybe she'd hurt herself.

Lord knows she'd deserve it.

"What do you want, henchman?" A soft voice floated through the entryway. Moist shifted, folding his arms and trying to look intimidating.

"Gotta talk to you." He glanced down the dark hallway. Numerous doors swung back and forth, never quite closing.

"Oh?" She sounded amused. "Then why not come further in? Just... follow my voice."

He snorted. "Not likely. Probably find myself a minute in the past, back at the door."

"Clever." She was standing in front of him. "So, again, what do you want?"

He blinked. Whenever she appeared like this, sudden and without a sound, it unnerved him. One eye shone like a diamond, while the other blinked in time, every second, steady and unchanging. She was bald, or at least, she appeared to be- Moist knew better than to trust everything his eyes told him in here. Both her black dress and white gloves were covered in numbers, slowly blending together and drifting apart in random, meaningless sequences.

He tried to keep his voice strong. "I never asked you how this all works." He gestured towards the numerous calendars lining the walls.

She followed his gaze. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, but she said nothing.

She knew what he was talking about. She _had_ to, and she was just messing with him. He scowled. "The future. You know everything that's gonna happen, right?"

In all honesty, he expected her to avoid the question. Maybe to give a halfhearted, cliche response, about the instability of time and millions of different futures that are born with every choice.

Instead, she held up a hand. Dozens of calendars began moving, papers flipping and turning like the pages of a book. Moist nearly took a step back when images began forming along the walls. Every surface became a lens, showing the world in all its facets- it started with the sky, as the squares nearest the ceiling began to display the sun and moon, racing back and forth while the stars blinked and faded endlessly.

Next, he saw people. Masses and crowds, moving quickly across continents as time flew even faster. Countries fell and rose, while nature and science and technology and weather and the entire _world _all kept spinning until Moist had to look away.

It hurt his head.

But she wasn't finished. They were closer to the pages now, as if they were looking into a camera. It suddenly seemed more personal- he could see every face, full of smiling joy or heartfelt tears. Some of the calendars showed infants, being held for the first time. Others depicted funerals. There appeared to be more of those than anything else.

"Stop it," he said. She looked surprised, but nodded. The papers gently lighted down.

"Yes. I see it all." She wasn't smiling now. He had that feeling again, that she already knew what he was going to ask.

Moist looked from one eye to the other. "So why didn't you do something?"

Maybe it was bias, from the faces in extreme emotion, but he could have sworn he saw sadness in her eyes. Even pain. She shook her head. "It would not-"

"Don't give me that." He took a deep breath. "Last time I talked to you, you said you were testing your powers. You found a kid who was gonna be President one day. But you didn't say a word about..." He couldn't finish, but it was obvious she understood.

"You could have at least told me. Maybe I could have stopped it."

"No. You couldn't."

He wanted to yell, to surprise her, to vent and rage over how unfair it all was. He fought it back. Expressionless, calm, he faced her. "He's nothing now. When Penny died, he lost something; I don't know what. But he doesn't do anything unless it's for the League. Even me-" He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "He put up with me for a while, but now he won't talk to anyone."

The woman was quiet. "He's killing more people, you know." Moist kept his tone casual. "Just because the horse tells him to. It's sick. And you're telling me you saw it all, but you didn't do anything?"

She bowed her head.

He'd expected an argument. The silence was worse. He turned, placing his hand on the doorknob again. "I gotta try, at least. To get him back to the way he was. I was hoping you'd help."

"You don't understand." She was quiet, more so than before. "We can't change things."

He paused.

"Even if Penny lived, even if the doctor gained everything he ever wanted and lost nothing, it wouldn't last." Her brilliant eye flashed. "The villains always lose."

She smiled sadly. "Even the League, one day, will fall. I could try to stop it, but then it will happen some other way. I've seen it. We are all doomed."

The last statement jarred him. "What?"

"We destroy ourselves. There's nothing else evil can do. The consequences of our own actions are more powerful than any hero."

He flicked a bead of sweat off his hand. "Yeah. Maybe." He sighed. "But I'm not gonna give up."

She was silent, staring at the floor.

Moist opened the door. "Besides, you're wrong, Hourglass."

"What?"

"We can do... what we gotta do." He shrugged. "Screw the consequences. We're evil."

He knew it didn't make much sense. It still felt good. Without another word, he stepped out of the house, closing the door behind him.


End file.
